Trinity
by Jamaica
Summary: AU. Yaoi. 'In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen.'
1. One

**Author's Note:** FFVII belongs to Square-Enix, so do its characters. The story belongs to me. This is an AU tale, obvious pairings from the beginning, and believe me, what you see is what you get. Two points of difference: one, Vincent is not a monster. Two, I made Cloud taller. He had always seem taller than five foot seven to me, even when I was playing the game and saw AC pics, so here he's five ten. Let's not make him too obvious of an uke, shall we?

* * *

**Trinity**

One

"Sir!"

The soldier at the door saluted, his voice rang through loud and clear. A bit unnecessarily loud, in fact, Zack thought. He glanced at his companion and fellow general, and wondered why they were currently here. They just received an order to retreat directly from the Prime Minister. Their victory against the Avalanche was a costly one, and Zack knew the soldiers could all use a bit of respite. His forces were scattered after the battle at Orion, and he and Sephiroth were supposed to gather up and condense Zack's troops, making Orion the new holdout, about 70 kilometers closer than their previous position at Ancen. Zack was sure the Prime Minister would want an assault on Nadia next, but to take down the heart of the Holy Land would require the army to be at a much stronger state than the present.

Which did not explain at all why Sephiroth, instead of heading directly to the comm. station and informing the divisions, and Zack himself getting his horse and rounding up the troops near the edge of the battlefield, had somehow end up in front of this tent. Major Cloud Strife's tent, to be exact. Sephiroth had requested Zack to show him the location, and Zack, albeit curious but knew better than to question Sephiroth's inquiries, had obliged at once. He figured this would be explained later, if he really cared enough to ask. They had been comrades long enough.

"Is Major Strife in there?" Zack asked.

"Uh . . . yes, sir. He is, but . . ." the soldier fumbled.

Zack raised an eyebrow. He glanced at the tent door, into the lit crack between the fabric pieces. "This is General Sephiroth. He needs to see the major. Is there a problem?"

The soldier visibly paled. "Um, uh, sir, he is a bit . . . busy . . . at the moment."

Zack looked at Sephiroth, and the other general looked back pointedly. Well, there goes any argument, Zack thought. "Step aside, private, I'm sure whatever Major Strife's doing, he could spare a few moments."

The soldier did not look any less rattled, but saluted dutifully and stepped aside. Zack walked forward, lifted up one of the flaps and felt the warm air inside hit him squarely in the face. He scanned the inside, expecting to see the major at his desk pouring over maps, but came completely to a halt at the scene before him and stared with his mouth wide open.

On the small makeshift bed inside the tent lay a very naked Major Cloud Strife. His ever-defiant spiky blond hair a mess now on the pillow, soaked with sweat. His face a mask of pure ecstasy, if the breathy moans escaping from his lips were any indication. He was wrapped around an equally naked brunet, fingers entwined in the mass of long brown hair, as his arms stretched across the man's back. The soldier on top (there were no civilians around) had his face buried in the major's neck, probably leaving trails of marks on the junction below the ear. He was on his hands and knees, sprawled on the bedspread and rocking back and forth, as the blond's legs under him tensed in sync with the rhythm. A thin film of sweat covered both bodies, making their skin shine dully under the filtered sunlight. Labored breathing permeated the room. The bed creaked steadily, the covers were strewn to the side, its end dangling onto the floor as the air surrounding it drank in the heavy scent of sex floating above the once-clean bedspread.

Zack blinked. Twice, before he remembered that there was someone else standing beside him and a definite reason for their visit. He cleared his throat, directing his gaze toward the left wall and suppressing a laugh, then waited.

"God, David," the blond snapped, "what the hell do you want?"

"Sorry to interrupt, Major, but . . ." Zack answered with a straight face.

He saw the brunet on top immediately still, a quiet gasp escaped him as he looked up at the entrance, eyes wide open in shock. Zack himself did a double take. "Lieutenant Valentine?!" His voice sounded just as incredulous as he felt. The brunet blanched.

"Ah, shi-" he heard the blond curse as Vincent Valentine quickly scooted backwards, dragging a sheet with him to cover up his privates. Cloud Strife sat straight up and began to reach for his scattered clothes around the bed. Zack recovered from his surprise and finally let out the laughter he had been holding in for the past few minutes, doubling up and grabbing onto a tent pole for support.

"Well," He said between breaths, "I see you have no problem unwinding after a battle, soldiers."

* * *

There were worse situations, Vincent was sure, than where he was right now. The battle just past, for example, where he had stayed in the trench for a good two days and a night, eating nothing and drinking from only one canteen of water. They were supposed to ambush the enemy forces within the camp, when the besieged reach their breaking point and decide to try to fight through. Vincent, being the second lieutenant, was supposed to lead his division, literally being the first person sticking his head out of the safety of the trench once the enemy decided to move out. The first person, the first target.

He remembered trembling slightly from the cold, legs numb from staying crouched for so long, and his fingers holding onto the wooden rosary as he always did before a crucial battle. And was it crucial! They had Orion within their grasp. Vincent could feel it touching his fingertips. His men had lain with him, quiet and breathless as the wind howled on the plains. Vincent wasn't scared, but he'd be damned if he denied his anxiety. A churning feeling roamed inside his stomach, and his heart stayed at his throat, leaving a huge air gap between the two organs. Vincent was, if anything, on the edge with his wits barely intact.

Now, inside his – Cloud's – overly warm tent, standing in his sleep pants beside his fellow soldier, who was clad in only a pair of boxers and a loose shirt as two generals poured over them, Vincent decided there really weren't that many situations worse than this. He shifted his weight, the previous activities had left a strain on his knees and Vincent didn't want to think about the irony. _Well_, he tried to comfort himself, _at least we're in this together_.

"This is General Sephiroth," General Zack lounged in his chair. "I'm sure his name is not unfamiliar to you, Lieutenant."

"No, sir." Vincent replied. Who _hadn't_ heard of the great general Sephiroth? The man had never lost a battle. Shinra's potential capture of the Holy Land would be inconceivable without him. To say that Vincent was very uncomfortable with the idea of _this_ General Sephiroth walking in on him and Cloud was a severe understatement.

The general was a truly a sight to behold. The long platinum hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, leaving two strands free above the thin arched eyebrows. It gave the man an eerily cold air, as if the silver color was an indication of his brute strength. A pair of demon-ridden eyes, sharp and focused, looked down upon the young soldiers. Vincent felt as if two high-powered searchlights went through him, glowed with jade and edged with steel, and centered directly onto his soul. He heard his heart thumping loudly in his ears and suppressed a shudder.

Outwardly, however, he kept his neutral expression.

"Is there something you need to discuss with Major Strife?" Zack spoke up, turning to face Sephiroth. The white-haired man nodded.

"Yes. Major Cloud Strife," he said to Cloud, who stood up straighter when his name was called. "I want to recruit you back to my division."

_What? _Vincent was alarmed. Now? When they had just scored a victory at Orion, thanks to the major's brilliant efforts? Cloud couldn't leave! They needed him here. _He_ needed him here.

Apparently he wasn't the only one with the problem. Zack frowned and leaned forward, his elbows scraping the chair arms. "Wait, when was this decided?"

"Just now," Sephiroth replied.

"Don't I get any say in this?"

Sephiroth settled back against the chair's cushions. "Go ahead."

Zack scoffed lightly. "Well, first of all, Major Cloud Strife had been a valuable asset to my troops. This victory wouldn't have been possible without him. I certainly don't wish for him to leave this place, especially since we're out to attack Nadia any day now." He paused slightly. "Is this already official?"

Sephiroth shook his head. "No."

"Then can't you wait a little bit before he had to go join you back in Mana?"

Good Lord, Vincent sweated. Mana was about as close to Shinra City as war could allow, and consequently more than three weeks travel on horseback from where they currently were. If Cloud got rerouted there, it was pretty much farewell, because neither one of them could possibly spare the time to visit each other, not even meeting halfway. Vincent prayed for General Zack's intervention.

"No," answered General Sephiroth, "my division is no longer at Mana. They're on their way here."

Zack's eyes widened. "What?"

"General," Sephiroth folded his hands together, "why do you think I've come to you? Just to chat and catch up on old days? I've been reassigned to join forces with you and secure this hold point. Also, if we're going to take Nadia, we should at least combine our strengths, don't you think?"

The surprise washed off of Zack's face and broke into a grin. "You old trickster, you've been holding out on me! Why didn't you tell me when you first got here?"

Sephiroth leaned back, stretching out his long legs on the limited floor space. "Does this mean Major Strife's transfer have been approved?"

Zack sighed. "I suppose. Not like I could've stopped you anyway. O Mighty Lord Sephiroth, thy words are law."

He was openly mocking him, but Sephiroth only chuckled at Zack's antics. "Well, since you approved it. Major Strife," he turned to the blond, but not before sparing a glance at Vincent. "My first order for you: you're to help General Zack gather up any and all scattered troops around Orion. Get dressed."

"Yes sir," Cloud saluted, then proceeded near the table, where all of his clothes lay in a bundle, and quickly dressed himself. Vincent listened to the rustle, knowing fully well which button Cloud was going to clasp first and how the complicated buckle of his belt snap together. His stance was a little bit relaxed, after hearing the transfer did not involve an immediate and permanent relocation of his lover. Vincent almost sighed in relief.

Zack stood up and yawned, stretching his limbs out toward the ceiling. "Oh, man, you gotta leave the fucking ground work to me, huh? What're you doing then, contacting your own troops?"

"No," Sephiroth replied. "I have some business to discuss with . . . Lieutenant Valentine, is it?"

Vincent felt his heart skip a beat. He thought he was being paranoid about the general, about how those eyes never seemed to leave him even though Sephiroth was blatantly looking elsewhere. He heard the fumbling of a belt and knew Cloud's attention was on them, too. But he managed to gather wits and retained his composure. No one in the room should know there was anything amiss.

"Come on, Major," Zack suddenly said, "let's go. We still got soldiers out there."

"Yes, sir. Coming, sir." Cloud replied hastily. He followed the general to the entrance, throwing back a concerned glance toward Vincent on his way out. Another quick order from Zack hurried him, and Cloud lifted the flap and disappeared into the red evening sun.

Now left alone with only General Sephiroth in the small confined space, Vincent began to feel a pressure building at his temples. The general hadn't moved, simply stared hard at him in his sitting position. If looks could kill, Vincent was sure he'd be dead a couple of times over. However, the neutral expression remained firmly on his face, his body was rigid and his eyes focused straight ahead with undivided attention.

Inside, he was utterly terrified.

* * *

Sephiroth looked over the young man standing in the middle of the room. Long dark-brown hair cascaded down the shoulders, nicely framing the high cheekbones and the pointed chin. The sharp eyes showed supreme intelligence, although right now they seemed a bit shaky, Sephiroth decided. The body was well toned, as expected of every soldier; the only thing marring the pale flawless skin was a large and distinct scar on the young man's left arm. It was wide and jagged, took up the entire length of the arm from wrist to collarbone. It looked like someone had taken a knife with nails stuck on the side and simply dragged it down the flesh.

Even with that, the boy was a fine-looking soldier if there ever were one.

_Not bad, Strife_, Sephiroth thought dryly. _Not bad at all. In fact, I'd say you'd exceeded my expectations at both finding someone quickly and finding someone this good._ He let a sneer creep up his features, not missing the quick glance from the brown eyes as the young soldier kept his attention stance.

"At ease, Lieutenant," he finally said, stood up from his chair and walked a few steps toward the brunet.

The young man obeyed, but didn't seem to be breathing any lighter. Sephiroth chuckled. He knew the certain kind of effect he had on others. _Good. Makes things much easier. _

"How long has this been going on?" The general asked casually.

The young man gave him a questioning look.

_Oh come on, don't play stupid._ Sephiroth waited. The lieutenant's eyes met his for a second, then moved off to a nonexistent spot toward the right. "Two years."

"_Two years_?" His surprise was genuine. "It's been going on for two _years_ and General Zack is not aware of it?"

"Sir, with all due respect," the lieutenant replied calmly, "there are other things for General Zack to focus on than a soldier's personal life. As do most others."

Not a dull tongue, this one. Sephiroth cocked his head sideways, trying to figure out what exactly is the character of Lieutenant Valentine. "What's your full name, Lieutenant?"

A pause. Then, "Vincent Valentine, sir."

"Well, Vincent," Sephiroth crossed his arms. "You should know, then, that things such as . . . personal affairs . . . are not exactly within the tolerance of the army code."

He began walking, circling around the brunet in just slow enough pace to make the scrutinized uncomfortable. The brunet said nothing, and Sephiroth couldn't help but smirk in satisfaction. "There should be _some_ consequences to such actions, don't you agree?"

He got behind the soldier and stopped, watching as the muscles on Vincent's back tensed in reflex. "You have nothing to say?" He pushed, and walked closer, letting his breath hit the brown strands splayed on the back.

Still no answer. Maybe this Vincent knew he was bullshitting. If Zack had recruited him, then undoubtedly he must have read the code front to back many times. Sephiroth decided to change strategy. "Why did you join the army, Lieutenant?"

"Is that relevant, sir?" Finally, the silent spoke. Not an acceptable answer, but Sephiroth could work with that. He stepped even closer, his attention on the mass of hair. Hmm, was that . . .?

"_I_'ll decide on that, Lieutenant. Just answer the question." Sephiroth said, reaching toward the back of Vincent's neck. He heard the brunet unsuccessfully suppressing a gasp, and saw slight movement of the tattooed back muscles. Sephiroth let his hand linger, but didn't touch, waiting for Vincent's reply.

"It's in the records," the young man said.

_Alright, now you've done it. Good job, Lieutenant, you just proved yourself to be a real hardass._ Sephiroth let his hand land then, parted enough of the hair to see what he needed, and then practically walked into Vincent, ignoring the young man's subtle arch of his back and the squaring of his shoulders. He grabbed a silky curl in his fingers and put his mouth next to Vincent's ear.

"I don't think this is regulation, soldier," Sephiroth whispered, yanking on the strand for emphasis. "At least not for your class. It better be gone the next time I see you. You know where I'll be."

With that, he abruptly backed away, feeling the loss of heat as the brief contact ended succinctly. Sephiroth walked around the brunet, not sparing another glance as he exited the tent. He did need to go to the comm. towers to check on the position of his troops.

When he got under the waning sunlight, the general sighed. He almost regretted drilling the young man. Almost. It was unfortunate that this Vincent wasn't just a spineless mongrel with a pretty face. It could have gone so much better, had the stubborn fool decided to play smart and cooperate with him. Sephiroth was willing to give him a chance to walk away.

_Oh but you left me with no choice now, Lieutenant Valentine._ Sephiroth clenched his fists_. You're begging for me to break you._

* * *

Vincent let out the breath he had been holding for the past however many minutes and nearly collapsed onto the floor. He fell backwards on the bed, his legs refused to support anymore of his weight. Having the most fearsome general literally breathing down his neck took a hell of a lot out of him. Vincent wouldn't have been a bit surprised if Sephiroth chose to pull his sword out and slice through his throat right then and there. One quick move, the blood wouldn't even have time to splatter, and all that'd be left of Vincent Valentine would be a stiff corpse with a cut artery.

Now the million-dollar question was: why?

He had a hunch. Hell, more than just a hunch, because the only thing he had ever done since he met the general was fucking someone senseless. Someone named Cloud Strife, whom the general just happened to take a peculiar kind of interest in. Vincent wasn't stupid. He had three guesses on what kind of interest, but his mind was screaming the word "platonic" through his skull. He swung an arm over his eyes, blotting out the fading sunlight from his frayed vision.

He shoved the predicament into the future. At present, Vincent only wanted to worry about the relatively minor nuisance of losing his hair. It seemed trivial, but he knew the general saw _it_, and the records would no doubt show it if Sephiroth bothered to take up his word. It wouldn't be trivial then, and Vincent only hoped this was the worst that could come out.

He didn't believe for a second it'd work that way.


	2. Two

**Author's Note:** I watched FFVII:AC and realized that: Vincent's hair is not dark brown, it's black! So I can't really call him a brunet . . . crap. Well, since I'm lazy, in this Alternate Universe fic he has brown hair. And brown eyes, you know, non-vampire thing. Anyway, this version is the EDITED VERSION! Means NO LEMON, thank you ffnet for that rule. The lemon in this chapter doesn't affect plot much (unlike the ones later that I'll write which is full of plot), so if you don't want to bother this chapter makes perfect sense in itself. If you want to be dirty and read it, please go to my website http // scarecrow. atspace. com (Sorry the format's funny. For some reason ffnet won't let me do links in a document.)

* * *

**Trinity**

Two

Cloud remembered the aftermath when the troops had conquered Ancen. The city had been very loosely defended; the Avalanche apparently had underestimated their speed of travel, causing the reinforcements to be three days behind Shinra's schedule. It had only taken two days of mild battle, and the white flag was already flying above Avalanche's dome-like tent. The army had not been the main threat, not even close. What had really gotten under Cloud's (and many many others') skin had been the civilians.

Ancen had been in Avalanche's possession ever since the initial takeover fifty years ago. The generation of citizens whom fought the intruders had mostly died off, letting the army become part of its scenery, and later, its population. New rounds of troops had come and gone, not fighting yet perpetually there, acting as peacekeepers and odd-and-end errand boys. The citizens of Ancen had grown accustomed and even welcomed their presence. Which was why that, when Shinra had marched through the fortress doors, the civilians were as happy to see them as bears woken up from winter hibernation.

Consequently, the next fortnight had been beyond rough for the Shinra soldiers. Cloud didn't even know how he had managed to survive without missing any of his vital organs. During that time he had gotten stabbed by a barmaid, found poison in almost every drop of water he didn't fetch himself, and received numerous rocks and arrows through his tent flap. To avoid further incensing the citizens, General Zack had ordered the troops to endure all assaults, as long as there weren't any casualties, without harming a single soul. "Once they stop seeing us as a threat to them and their properties," Zack had announced, "they should stop their foolish gimmicks and accept us. But, we have to give it time. It's crucial that we hold down this fort."

Easier said than done. Cloud had considered himself a fairly levelheaded person, but as the days grind on he felt his nerves chipping away in bits and pieces. _God, please give me the patience_, he used to repeat the mantra every night. _The patience not to kill the next person that spits on the ground when I walk by. _

Here at Orion, on the other hand, things were significantly simpler. Orion was a basic military camp, stashed in the corner of the plains between a mountain pass and a river. Strategically it was a perfect defense hold, and for the Shinra it was a challenge to attack. The battles were bloody, casualties fairly high, and Cloud was quite doubtful of the future capture. The rations were running low, and although the river provided freshwater, Avalanche had the intelligence to build a dam to cinch the flow from their high point . Had it dragged on a few days more, Cloud would have to report to General Zack and ask for a temporary cease-fire. His men were tired, hungry, wounded, and provided easy targets for anyone with reasonable health and a weapon.

Fortunately, their patience bore its fruit. Orion surrendered earlier that day, after a month of waiting entrapment. Cloud personally tore down Avalanche's blue-and-green flag, replacing it with the Shinra's symbol draped in blood-red. The battle was long and painful, but it left no sour residue and Cloud was just glad he didn't need to heed his troops about another vicious aftermath. All that was left to do was to take care of the prisoners and round up the wounded. Oh, and took a breather some time before he collapsed.

The takeover ended in the late morning, but he was tied up with matters great and small until well into the afternoon. By the time he retired to his personal tent, Cloud was ready to drop on his face. He took a hasty shower in the riverbed beside the main camp, reveling in the cold and clean feeling, but it did not alleviate his fatigue. He stumbled inside the warm structure, expecting a comfortable and empty room, but found none other than the second lieutenant sitting on the bed, looking at him with calm and languid eyes.

"What're you doing here?" he asked.

"Who do you think put up this tent?" Came the reply.

The conversation ended there. Cloud vaguely remembered climbing on top of the sheets and Vincent's body, and the rest was –

"Major Strife!" Zack's voice suddenly came from ahead. Cloud snapped his head up and directly met his superior's laughing eyes. Cloud swallowed.

"Daydreaming on the job?" Zack sounded amused.

"No sir!" Cloud replied hastily. He whipped his horse forward, closer to the general. "All areas clear, sir!"

Zack chuckled. "Relax, Major. What's the stats?"

Cloud briefly described the current situation. Based on his surveying for the last few hours, the casualties were a bit better than he had first anticipated. His regimen had more than a third left with minimal injuries, another third were alive but required drastic medical attention. The medics were already on the field, busy with stretchers and blood bags and morphine. From where the two of them were standing, Cloud could see the horse-carts full of bodies and patients running to the center camp.

"In other words," Zack said after a moment, "everything is relatively fine and under control at the moment, yes?"

Cloud nodded in assent. He let his horse gallop side-by-side with Zack, as they both began the journey back toward the heart of Orion. Cloud heard his stomach grumble. He was famished – hadn't had anything since daybreak. He definitely could use some nourishment.

"So," Zack spoke again, this time in a much more conversational manner. "Cloud, what are we going to do about your punishment?"

"My . . . punishment, sir?"

Zack gave him a look. "The adequate reprimand for your little . . . incident . . . earlier."

"Oh . . ." Cloud felt his face grew hot. He should've known better than to expect someone like Zack to simply forget the episode. Wishful thinking.

Zack grinned. "Geez, how old are you, Major? Still getting tomato-faced. Come on, you tell me what should be done. I'm sure the army code had something to say about that."

It did. It was the only paragraph in the entire army handbook that he had actually memorized verbatim. Zack made every soldier recite the code within the first week they joined, no exceptions. Cloud was prepared to answer this question ever since the first time he and Vincent spent the night in the same tent.

"Yes, sir," Cloud began softly. "'In the case of possible sexual assault and/or sexual relations with a civilian, a policy of zero tolerance will be enforced. For first and initial offense the party at fault will receive a week of solitary confinement and appropriate demotions in rank. For repeated offenses, the party at fault will be discharge from the army.'" He paused. "But sir, it says . . ."

"Yes?"

Cloud didn't continue. Something in Zack's tone unnerved him. He looked at the ground, silent.

"But it says _civilian _and not _fellow soldier_, doesn't it? Because somehow they just never considered that a possibility, which I admit, is a pretty damn big loophole. Don't you think?"

Cloud looked up and frowned. Did he hear this right? General Zack was still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Cloud scratched his head.

"Soldier," Zack sighed, "why do you think I made you memorize the code? All of you know the basic concepts by heart. But I'm sure many have missed, or perhaps did not ponder, such small specifications, no? Those rules aren't made to be broken, no, but if they have loopholes big enough to fit in an elephant, well then, people are going to take advantage of them."

"Sir...?"

Zack smirked. "So, with this unnecessary clarification written down in plain sight, you can damn well screw anyone, as long as he's a fellow soldier, and I cannot do a single thing about it legally. I certainly have no right to kick such a fine officer like you out of the divisions based on that alone."

Cloud didn't know whether to think his superior officer merciful or insane. Either way, he seemed to be off the hook, officially. "Um, thank you, sir." He stuttered.

"Ah ah, don't thank me, thank the idiots who drafted the code. Me, I have personal questions for you. Considering that your punishment, hmm?"

"Q-questions?" Cloud blanched.

"Yeah," Zack let his horse cut in front of Cloud's. "How long have you and the lieutenant been, uh, fucking?"

"Uh, um, it –"

"Too blunt? I'll rephrase it, then. How –"

"No no! That's unnecessary, sir. I . . ."

Cloud knew the general was enjoying watching him squirm. He again swallowed hard, and still did not meet the dark-haired man's eyes. "Two years."

Zack's jaw dropped. "Holy f – how long? I've been way out of the loop. Two years! Does Reno know about this?"

Cloud nodded.

"And if he knows, then Elena and Rude . . ."

Cloud nodded again.

"Huh," The general's face belied astonishment. "I thought I knew everything about my men. Guess I need to work on that."

"You have a lot of men, sir," Cloud contributed.

"Right. Nice try, Major. You know, I used to hear a lot of things about you that I dismissed as half-rumors not worth investigating, but maybe they have merits after all."

"Rumors, sir?" Cloud frowned slightly. First time he heard of such.

Zack smirked. "I suggest you ask Vincent about it. I'm sure he's a much better candidate for, uh, enlightening your knowledge bank. Take care, soldier."

Cloud restrained himself from asking more questions. They now reached Orion and were slowing their horses down as a boy trotted up to take the beasts. Cloud dismounted, still mindful of the conversation past, and only half-concentrated on where he was going. The general headed off toward the direction of the main cluster of tents – probably to check on the medics.

Cloud looked around him and sighed. His stomach grumbled loudly once more. The evening mass had undoubtedly passed, but there would be leftover food at least. He often forgot that Zack was not of the same faith as his men, and hence wouldn't be very aware of these rituals among the soldiers. Cloud wouldn't exactly call himself devoted, but he always made it a point to go to the one prayer after a victory. It seemed appropriate.

Well, too late now. He grabbed a passing private, inquired about the location of food supplies. With the arrival of General Sephiroth from behind the lines, Cloud was sure they brought the much-needed sustenance from Mana. After getting the tent number he immediately broke into a light run toward that direction. His body needed to be fed, so he let his legs do their job.

* * *

Zack found Sephiroth in a clearing between two trees, training. His seven-foot-long sword moved in a blur around him, picking up a cyclone of leaves in its wake. Zack watched. 

_He's lost more weight_, Zack thought, crossed his arms and stepped to one side, his back against a nearby tent pole. Sephiroth looked positively gaunt. His cheekbones were getting sallow, his chin sharp enough to cut paper, and his hair was wilting. Zack remembered back when they were still fresh recruits in the Shinra Army, Sephiroth's hair was the talk among the soldiers. Long and fine and silky and _platinum_, of all colors. Sephiroth hated it when people touched his hair, which was exactly why Zack took every opportunity to yank on them, earning the glares and sometimes a punch hard enough to leave bruises. Zack thought it was hilarious.

Now, the pure white mass of hair had on a grey tone. The shine was dull, although pulled back into the tight high ponytail concealed some of the damage. Anyone could see that the great general Sephiroth was tired. Not a wonder, Zack smiled bitterly, he was reaching his own limit. They had been in this war for fifteen years.

The Holy Land was always a hotspot for dispute for its namesake. Its center, the city of Nadia , received thousands of pilgrims every year from all over the globe. Along with them came exchanges of goods and information. Everyone spoke the same language there, and on the soil of worship all appeared equal. Nevertheless, the different factions of religion had fought over the control of the Holy Land for centuries, all wanted to share in its glory. The Avalanche and the Shinra were simply the most contemporary and powerful factions of late.

The war had been declared before Zack was born. A good twenty years before, actually. Zack only knew the big details, such as the reason for their path to force was because Avalanche had sealed off the Shinra's pilgrim privileges. The Holy Road was now only open to ones whose faith lay within Avalanche, cutting off all other religions' worship passages to Nadia. The Prime Minister of Shinra at that time was beyond infuriated. He declared war almost within a week of the so-called eviction, but Shinra had been much weaker then, and no major battle broke out between the two tribes of people.

It was different now. Zack's generation had bred a surge of heroes. Zack remembered his mother's voice, telling him the stories of the Holy Land and its beauty. Their family did not share Shinra's dogma, but his mother had firmly believed that no one should be barred from his religious practice. We live on this land, she had said. We should help these people, because their welfare is just as important as our own. Remember this, Zack, for we are all free under the same sky.

With that ideal in mind, Zack joined the army and leapt through the ranks, making general at the mere age of seventeen. He spent the next eleven years on the front lines, bringing the small meek Shinra army into a considerable force. The invasion into the land of Avalanche was mostly Zack's effort, with Sephiroth fighting closely behind him. They had met when Zack was a corporal. The dark-haired man never liked the supposed status of titles, and hence spent most of his time with his men rather than alone in a tent. It was something he never grew out of.

Zack watched Sephiroth dance with the sword, graceful and deadly as always. He smiled, his hazel eyes sparkled under the moonlight. "The enemy's behind you!" he yelled, pointing toward a nonexistent shadow in the distance.

Sephiroth didn't stop the roundhouse he was performing. "Would you like to help me, then, General?"

"Oh?" Zack raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, o mighty one, I think I'll have to decline. I have other –"

His sentence was sharply cut off when the point of the silvery glistening weapon suddenly appeared underneath his chin. The tip grazed his neck, leaving a small cut in the skin. Zack froze, but the smile remained on his face.

The two men stared at each other for a while. Finally, Sephiroth's lips quirked into a smirk, his eyes glowed. "Care to dance?"

"Daren't I refuse?" Zack replied, pulling out his massive blade behind his back. What followed was only the crisp sound of metal clashing together, and bright sparks illuminating the surrounding field.

* * *

Something warm was on his face, wet and soft and moving rapidly. He let out a small moan, shifting his position and turning his head to the opposite side. The warmth didn't fade. Light puffs of air above it tickled his cheeks, and Vincent wanted to brush it away. But his hands were malfunctioning, glued to his sides on top of the covers. Covers? 

It took him a few moments to remember he was on a bed, and even longer whose bed it was. By then Vincent also recognized the warmth as someone's tongue thoroughly licking him, the lips soft and caressed his skin. Vincent didn't open his eyes. Instead, he reached up, vaguely noticed his arms' regained mobility, and searched for that tickle spot along the familiar shape of a back.

"Oh!" he heard a grunt, and the bed dipped on his right side. Vincent smiled, finally letting the lids of his eyes lift. Cloud Strife was lying beside him, giving him a fairly hard glare under the lit candlelight.

Vincent propped himself up on his elbows. "You look beat."

Cloud scoffed lightly. "Well, pardon me for not having the leisure to sleep away the afternoon. I had a job to do."

"What time is it?"

"Just past eight thirty."

Vincent didn't trust his ears. Eight thirty? It couldn't be. He frowned, trying to disprove Cloud's words by observing his surroundings, and realized that his lover was in fact, very correct. The candle had been burning for at least an hour, and they only light them after sundown. Crickets chirped crisply outside the tent. Vincent put a hand over his eyes, his brain incapable of processing the escape of time.

"How did –" he began, sitting up slowly to avoid a head rush. "How did I manage to –?"

"Fall asleep for so long?" Cloud answered him. His voice no longer came from Vincent's side, so Vincent reopened his eyes. The blond was walking toward the table, stripping off his uniform at the same time. "I'm surprised you didn't earlier. I wasn't the one who had camped outside Orion for the past two days. Did you sleep at all when you were out there?"

Vincent shook his head. The battle this morning was still fresh on his mind. His men's cries, the cannonballs, and the rapid succession of gunfire left their echoes in his skull. Vincent sighed quietly, shifting his body on the bed to stretch out his legs. They had grown numb from the motionless nap. He looked up, catching Cloud opening a package on the table with one hand and pulling off his pants with the other. Vincent raised both eyebrows.

"Don't look at me like that," Cloud said, successfully accomplishing both tasks and kicking away the garments to a corner by the fire. "I don't want to touch these uniforms for the rest of my life. God knows how long it's been since they're washed. You hungry?"

With the question came the response of Vincent's stomach. The hunger of the past two days made itself known loudly, causing its bearer to flush red in the cheeks. Cloud gave him an amused smile, and laid out the contents of the paper bag. Vincent took a glance and immediately stood up, eyes burning like bright coals as he rounded the wooden table. He hadn't seen real meat for months, and the bread was fresh and not green with mold. Vincent swallowed down his gathering saliva.

"Oh my," he muttered. "Where did this come from?"

"General Sephiroth," was the reply.

The mention of that name re-jolted Vincent's memory of the afternoon. "Oh," he answered, hands reaching for the sandwiches slowing down a fraction. "The troops are already here?"

"Yeah." Slender fingers sketched across his waist from behind, pulling on the strings of his sleep pants but not undoing the tie. "They got here just before dinner, I heard." A gentle kiss graced his shoulder, as Vincent crossed himself and said a prayer before biting ravenously into the sandwich he picked up. Ham and cheese now tasted _so_ good.

Before he knew it he had finished one and was eager for another. His body thanked him for the necessity, but was not anywhere near sated. He leaned against the edge of the table, aware of Cloud's slender body behind him and feeling the beginning of an erection emerging beneath the drawstrings. Vincent cursed at man's endless desires. Here one wasn't even completely fulfilled and another had taken over already, demanding attention that Vincent wasn't sure he didn't want to give. Not with a certain blond's hands moving like that on his stomach.

The second sandwich didn't make its way to his mouth. Cloud stepped beside him, turning his body slightly so they faced each other. One hand came up and held onto his wrist, gently yet firmly. Vincent raised an eyebrow, asking the question in silence. Cloud smiled.

"I missed dinner," the blond said.

"You didn't eat?" Vincent didn't know whether to be touched or angry at Cloud for bringing _him_ food first.

"That, too." Cloud replied.

Ah, he understood. Cloud had missed mass, and the unspoken request was heard plainly. Vincent nodded, putting the sandwich back down on the brown paper and knelt where he stood. Cloud followed suit. They both removed their necklaces – Vincent's dark red rosaries against Cloud's silver cross – and held them together in their hands. The cords twined with their fingers.

"Holy Father," Vincent recited softly, "we accept at Thy hand, with all its anxieties, pains, and sufferings, whatever kind of death it shall please Thee to be ours. And yet, we thank Thee, for sparing our measly lives for another day, to bath in Thy Glory and Thy Mercy. In nomine Patrius, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen."

"Amen," repeated Cloud.

They crossed themselves and exchanged a brief kiss on the cheek. Cloud put his necklace back on while Vincent simply laid his piece on the table, on top of the map of the Holy Land . He picked up a sandwich and separated it in half, offering one triangular piece to the blond beside him. They ate the rest of the food in comfortable silence.

* * *

**A/N:** And this is where the lemon starts. So it's gone. Again, if you want to see Cloud and Vincents screwing each other silly, please go to my website at http // scarecrow. atspace. com. Leave me a note on what you think, yes? 


	3. Three

**Trinity**

Three

Cloud smelled smoke.

His first reaction was that there was a surprise attack and the tent caught on fire. It had happened before, when they had thought they were in relatively safe territory only woke up to find their food supplies burning. There really wasn't much one could do against hundreds of fire arrows suddenly appearing in the dark. Cloud sniffed again. It was smoke, no doubt, but not the kind he recognized. He opened his eyes slightly; shadows played in the dim pre-dawn and a tiny orange glow wavered on his right side. He sniffed once more and faintly distinguished the scent of cloves.

Cigarettes. And since Cloud himself was obviously not the culprit, it could only be –

His eyes snapped open at the thought. Vincent _never_ smoked except under extreme circumstances. Circumstances such as the time when they had been under siege near Kingston Mines, surrounded by armies four times their size with no incoming supply of food or rescue. Vincent had smoked then. A full pack in the course of thirty minutes. Cloud felt a shudder pass through him – not many men were alive when they had risked it all and finally broken free. He still had the scars to remember it by.

Cigarettes and Vincent meant more than trouble. Cloud nearly bolted up from the bed, but one look at the brunet's profile and he caught himself. Vincent's dark brows were furrowed, his eyes two bright dots of coal under the weak dawn light. His long hair was swept to one side, cascading over the right shoulder and hanging in front of his chest. The cigarette glowed from his right hand, held tight between slender fingers. The cover was drawn up to his waist, exposing all of Vincent's back from shoulder to tailbone. It was there that Cloud retained his staring.

Extending from the middle of Vincent's shoulder blades to the curve tip of his spine was the image of a huge silver cross, archaic-styled and flourished with gothic embellishments on its sides. Engraved in the middle were the words "Adveniat Regnum Tuum." Cloud had asked him where he got it before, but all he could get out of Vincent was a shrug and a "souvenir of the past," whatever that meant. Cloud didn't press the matter further. It wasn't his secret.

He had always loved the feel of the cross when his fingers glimmered across its surface as Vincent lay on top of him. Now, the cross practically glowed. Cloud wanted to reach out and touch it, run his hands all over and bath in its glory.

Vincent shifted, and Cloud snapped out of his observation. The blond sat up quietly, leaning forward to join Vincent's side of the bed.

"Those are bad for you, you know." Cloud said.

He saw Vincent's lips curve. "You're bad for me, too." The brunet retorted, turning slightly and giving Cloud a sideway glance.

"Something bothering you?"

"No."

"Liar," Cloud chided softly. "Did General Sephiroth give you a hard time?"

At the mention of that name, Vincent stiffened. _Aha_, Cloud thought, _jackpot_. He watched as Vincent drew a final puff, then extinguished the butt with his fingertips. Cloud hated it when Vincent did that, but thankfully he didn't have to witness it often. Vincent sighed.

"That bad, huh?" Cloud said, putting his head against Vincent's shoulder. "What happened?"

Vincent shook his head. Cloud leaned closer, patiently waited in silence. He knew the brunet wouldn't offer an _explanation_, but if he waited long enough, Vincent would at least give him an _answer_. Sometimes that was all he needed.

He was right, as usual. A moment later the man beside him turned his head, his lips brushing against Cloud's trademark spikes. "Hey, are you still sleepy?"

"No, I'm quite awake."

"Good. Want to cut my hair for me?"

"Want what?" Cloud looked up.

"Cut my hair."

"Now?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Vincent said nothing. Cloud thought for a minute, considering the possible reasons and when coming up blank, shrugged carelessly. "Sure, if you like. Just bear in mind I've only cut my own before, so no guarantee on the outcome."

Cloud climbed off the bed and pulled on a pair of pants in the process (_not_ the same one from the previous night on the floor). He found more candlesticks by the weapon rack and tacked them onto a small supply stand. By the time he fetched the matches and adjusted the light so it angled correctly, day was approaching fast, although it was still not sufficient enough inside the tent for something as delicate as the task at hand. He heard the scraping of a chair and turned, watching Vincent, now dressed in a long shirt draped to the top of his thighs, smooth back the messy pool of brown strands down his shoulders.

Cloud picked up a small dagger from his weaponry. "How short you want it?" he asked, wetting the blade with a cup of water.

"Regulation."

"_What?!_"

He nearly dropped the dagger onto his foot. He stared at the man sitting in the middle of the floor, expression neutral but Cloud knew, _knew_ what kind of effort Vincent had exerted simply on saying those words. The brunet's jaw was clenched tight, his shoulder was relaxed but the biceps on his arms were moving slightly from strain. Cloud walked closer, eyes focused on his lover but still not believing he had heard correctly.

"But, that's going to, you know, show it."

"I think that's the point, Cloud."

"Whose point? Yours?"

It was a negation rather than a question. Vincent leaned on the chair's wooden back, a sigh escaped his lips as he tilted his head backwards against the top. "Not important right now."

"Of course it's important!" Cloud snapped, irritated. He stalked behind Vincent, wiping off the excess water on the knife onto the hair in front of him. He grabbed a handful of dark-brown, straightening it out and pulling a bit harder than necessary. "But if you don't want to tell me what's going on, I can't make you, can I?"

He placed the knife in his mouth and used his free hands to gather up more hair. Pulling a random string from one of his uniforms nearby, he grouped the hair's top layer and tied it into a ponytail. He then took the knife with the edge facing upward, put it directly next to the skin on Vincent's neck, and started slicing the rest of the hair in short strokes while carefully maneuvering the tip away from the ears.

Pieces of brown hair fell around them in a choppy stream. Cloud felt his irritation dissolve as his hands worked, and soon he relaxed almost completely. In contrast, Vincent was getting more and more visibly uncomfortable. Cloud didn't have to look at the brunet's face to know his expression. When the last bit of hair covering Vincent's neck gave way to the knife in his hand, Cloud paused, and looked at the ink-black number bleeding out from the pale skin.

He had never seen it up close, with the natural camouflage and all. But like the ever-present blessing of the tattoo, Cloud had felt the number's eternal curse with his fingertips on a few occasions. Vincent usually brushed his hands away, but once, on the night before a suicide mission, he had simply let Cloud do what he pleased. Cloud had traced its embossed surface, felt every curve and ridge of the five-digit sequence as they lay in the dark, their crosses tingling between their chests. Its power forever branded into the soul of its bearer.

Vincent had told Cloud he was lucky to have it at a place so easily concealed, but now…

Cloud put down the knife, afraid of his urge to direct its tip into the black writing and mangle them until their teeth stop biting into his lover's flesh. He saw the muscle of Vincent's neck move, and heard him ask, "Why're you stopping?"

"I needed to figure out what to do next." He half lied, backing up to fetch more water. "First time and all."

Vincent's voice contained a smile. "Indeed. How does it look?"

"Not as bad as you think."

Cloud wiped off the hair clinging to the knife. He then took hold of the ponytail, and carefully angled the blade so the actual tail was cut off in a slant. The curtain of hair fell forward as the knife went past. Cloud held onto the leftover strands, printing its texture into his memory. His effort was interrupted when Vincent spoke again.

"What do _you_ think?"

Cloud let the mess of ponytail drop onto the floor. He revolved around the chair, stopping slowly in front Vincent and knelt down on one knee, their eyes leveled. "What exactly are we talking about here?"

Vincent's face looked unfamiliar, framed by the mid-cheek tendrils splayed from the sides. The ends looked too uniform. He stood up again, taking the knife to mount another assault. Vincent's hand came up just before they made contact, stopping Cloud by his wrist and holding on to him. His other hand reached and relieved Cloud off of his weapon. Cloud raised an eyebrow.

He received a small kiss on the inside of his wrist. "I can fix it later," said Vincent. "And I should go."

Cloud just then noticed the tent was lit up by the morning sun. They were standing in the middle of a patch of light, a floor of hair around them. Cloud grinned, shook his head, and said before Vincent could turn away, "No you're not. Think you can escape helping me clean up? You're not going anywhere until every single piece of your damn hair leaves this tent. _Then_ you can – hey, are you listening to me? I'm not kidding here!" He yelled at Vincent, who's already scooping up scattered clothes on the floor.

The blond stumped his foot as if he were six years old again and throwing a tantrum. "This is my tent, you can't just do whatever you want! I outrank you, too, Lieutenant!" When his words fell on deaf ears, Cloud narrowed his eyes. He watched Vincent shrug on his shirt, buckle his pants, and chose that moment to jump directly on the brunet's back, tackling them both onto the floor beneath.

They rolled around like children fighting on the playground, bumping into various things and knocking over the chair in the middle. Cloud, being mostly unclothed, took the harder end of the bargain. The radial formation of the pieces of hair was disrupted and spread haphazardly across the tent. It didn't really matter, for they were both trying to hard to hold in the laughter and control their breathing to worry about the rest.

In the end Cloud emerged victorious, with four limbs atop four limbs in a quite compromising yet very effective position. Their heartbeats slowed down a little, just missing each other's in rhythm. Cloud laid his head down on Vincent's shirt, his cheek pressed into a cold button. "See?" he said softly. "I win. You're not allowed to leave now."

By then he had stopped exerting pressure on Vincent's limbs. The man below him didn't push up, but instead wrapped his arms tightly around Cloud's torso. They lay there, content in the lazy morning devoid of bloodshed and hunger and adrenaline. It was just the two of them, caught within their own kingdom of heaven among a wreckage of sin.

"Cloud?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

Cloud smiled widely in reply.

* * *

Reno did not want to do this job. He argued until his throat ached, but it fell like lead against his fellow Turks, whom on any other day fought each other like a pack of wolves but this time were surprisingly unanimous. Even Rude, with his sunglasses forever blinding his eyes, nodded curtly when asked upon. Reno 's mouth was opened long enough for three flies to waltz through but none of his comrades paid any attention. Elena and Tseng were giving him hard glares by the end, and Reno , for the first time in years, ran out of excuses.

He dragged his feet along the path toward the telltale tent, grumbling loudly to himself and earning many odd looks from the passer-bys. Reno didn't pay attention; he was pissed. He didn't want to be the messenger. Especially considering it was the morning after a battle, and it was _them_. Reno wanted nothing more than a good warm bath, some nice liquor, and maybe a whore he could pick up from Ancen later. He had no intention of finding his barrack buddy when the said barrack buddy didn't come back the previous night. And he knew _exactly_ where Vincent was, and so did everyone else, and no, Reno did _not_ want to set a foot near Major Strife's tent anytime before noon.

Nevertheless, he was less than a couple hundred meters away from his destination. Reno kicked a rock toward a tree, satisfied when hearing its loud thunk. He then picked up a branch and dragged it on the ground behind him. He wasn't going to arrive quiet and unannounced.

When he reached the flap of Cloud's tent Reno coughed, twice, and vocally damned David for deserting his post at such a crucial time. He waited while shuffling his feet back and forth in the dirt. He whistled, looked around, and coughed more. When all of his attempts rendered not a single response, Reno frowned and took a giant step forward. _Fine_, he thought, _I'm going to enter and catch the two of you butt-naked on the bed and I won't to be the one doing the blushing. _

He lifted the fabric and stepped inside, his attention immediately caught by the heap on the floor. Reno rolled his eyes; figures. At least they were dressed, although for one of them it consisted nothing but a pair of boxers. Reno 's gaze fell on top of Cloud's pert behind, rising slightly with the movement of the hands holding them. If Reno simply tilted his head, he could see up the leg openings of the boxers, helped by the pushing fingers, and then the entire view of the major's pale ass is –

Whoa! Reno shook his head. Goddamn but did he need to get _laid_! He quickly averted his eyes elsewhere, and caught sight of a jug of water by the entrance. Reno smirked evilly. He looked back (carefully focusing on _other_ places) and saw the two were paying him zero attention, too absorbed in their shared kiss. Reno then quietly walked over, lifted and carried the clay jug, and promptly dumped its entire content on top of Cloud's spiked hair.

"Augh!" The cries below were simultaneous. Reno leapt back as Cloud swung up from the floor in one swift movement, blue eyes accusingly directed at him. " Reno , you fucking bastard! You could've just said something."

"I thought this is more effective," Reno said, laughing openly at Cloud shaking his head like a dog drying itself from a dip in the pond. "Serves ya right for not paying attention to your surroundings, blondie." He set down the jug and glanced over at Vincent, who was soaked to his chest like Cloud was. Reno squinted his eyes, what the -?

"Man, the hell happened to your head?"

Vincent said nothing. He calmly looked at Reno from his position on the floor, letting the water drip from his dark hair onto the collars of his shirt. Reno nearly cringed. Cloud watched from his side, wiping his face with a towel from the cloth rack.

"A change of pace," Vincent said, standing up slowly.

"Yeah," Reno stared. "Yeah, sure it is." The frown was distinct in his voice, laced with puzzlement and a bit of concern.

The redhead didn't want to ask, but he damn well knew what it meant. Hell, all Turks knew what it meant. It was the reason Rude wore his sunglasses, Elena never had on short sleeves, Tseng kept his chin tucked down most of the time and Reno himself never lifted up his shirttail. Now, as Vincent walked toward Cloud to get the offered towel, Reno willed himself to not look at the brunet. To look at that number, which he, if Reno was honest to himself, had always wondered about.

"What're you doing here?" Cloud asked, recapturing Reno 's attention.

"I can't just visit out of my own good will?" he drawled. "You know, he's supposed to be my barrack buddy and all. Shouldn't I worry about him some time?"

"Well, then," Cloud grinned, "if you care so much, why don't you give him a hand in cleaning up?"

Reno just then noticed the incalculable amount of hair on the floor. "No way!" he exclaimed, "I ain't gonna clean up the mess you made. Call it compensation for hurting my eyes when I walked in, how about that?"

"What's going on, Reno ?" Vincent spoke up. "You're not here without a purpose."

You got that right. "General Zack said we're staying put for a good while. Probably let us recoup and prepare for the next big one. We are _really_ close to Nadia, yo. Anyway, that's the message I'm supposed to bring."

"That's it?" Cloud said.

"Yeah, that's it. What, you expectin' more?" Reno put his hands inside his pockets. "Just my fucking luck to deliver it to you two, though. But I'm done, so, see ya."

"Not so fast!" He was about to exit the tent when a hand latched onto his arm. "I got another question for you."

Reno turned to look at Cloud. The blond had an odd look in his bright eyes, and was that a faint blush on his cheeks? Must be from the earlier activity. Vincent had produced a broom from god-knows-where and was currently sweeping the floor, his eyes down but ears picking up their conversation perfectly.

"What?" Reno said.

"There had been . . . various rumors about me flying around, hadn't there?"

"Uh . . . huh?"

"General Zack had, um, mentioned it to me, but he refused to tell me exactly what they were. But, you should know, right? You must know."

Vincent paused in his motions and stared at them intensely. Reno gave him a look back, shrugged helplessly, and said. "Well, yeah, but blondie, they're kinda pointless now. So there's no need for ya to –"

"Tell me what they were."

"Come on, blondie –"

"Tell me. Please."

Reno didn't know what to say. It was old gossip, but of course he knew what the grunts had said when the major first transferred to their division. Hell, he started some of them himself, because it was fun at the time and who was there to argue about the blond's obvious sexuality. He thought Cloud had always known, but chose that trite route of selective deafness. What a horrible time to find out he was wrong!

He sighed. Might as well play this out, since the cat's out of the bag and roaming the streets quite freely.

"Well," Reno brought up his smirk, then leaned forward to talk right into Cloud's ear, "they're mostly about who is currently occupying your bed, blondie, with you in it, of course, and on their overall performances. It varies week by week, and I think some're still going on depends on who you ask."

"What?!" Cloud jerked back, but Reno only stepped forward with him.

"Aw, don't tell me you're really that surprised." His smile grew wider when he saw the flush on Cloud's face and Vincent giving him a disapproving look from the corner. "Blondie, you're some hot stuff. A lot of people would like to get themselves a piece of _that_." He squeezed the flesh under the boxers roughly, earning a good shove from the major hard enough to knock him onto the floor.

" Reno !"

Reno only laughed uncontrollably at the warning from Vincent and Cloud's look of disgust. The blond walked quickly away from him, then started dressing at a furious speed. Vincent sighed, resumed his sweeping. The floor was almost clean.

"Why didn't somebody tell me this before?" Cloud suddenly exclaimed. "Why-why didn't _you_ tell me this, Vince?"

"Why would I need to tell you this?"

"Because . . . because! I should be aware of it!"

"Now you are. Did knowing that make your life better?"

Cloud turned exasperatedly. "That's not the point –"

"Then what is?"

"It –"

The entryway of the tent suddenly flapped open and David barged in. He skidded to a halt when he had fully taken in the scene, his first words came out stammered. "Uh, oh my – sorry. Major Strife, General Sephiroth wants to see you in his quarters."

"Now?" Cloud asked.

"Yes, sir. At once, sir."

"I'm on my way." Cloud said, finished up lacing up his boots and grabbed his outer gear. He gave a look of disdain to Reno , shouted "Don't wreck the place when I'm gone!" and walked out behind the private.

Reno stood up, stretching a bit and picking up a random sheet by the bed. He sauntered to his barrack mate, who had finished sweeping the hair into a pile, and bent down to put them into the bundle. Vincent knelt beside him.

"Why did you have to do that?" the brunet asked.

"Do what?"

"Push his buttons."

Reno laughed darkly. "Heh, simple. I don't like him. And who else can I mess with? You?"

* * *

"Major Strife is here, sir."

"Let him in."

Sephiroth put on his gloves. He looked up as Cloud Strife stepped inside the tent, dressed impeccably in his uniform and stood in a salute. Sephiroth waved his hand in dismissal, "At ease, Major. I hope I hadn't interrupted anything important."

"No sir," the major said, though Sephiroth didn't miss the rising blush on those high cheekbones. He looked at his watch: it was just past nine. Must've caught the – well, them – right as they woke up. Sephiroth's lips curved into a sneer, not quite friendly but a shade below malice. _Well, Major, this won't be much different._

"How is Lieutenant Valentine?"

"He's . . . fine, sir."

Cloud's hesitance indicated his confusion. Sephiroth stepped away from his desk, flexing his hands. "Is he adjusting to his new appearance?"

"Yes, sir." The reply came quickly, but soon Cloud caught himself within the implications. "Uh, how do you know about that, sir?"

Sephiroth remained still where he stood. "Because I ordered it."

Blue eyes widened. "Sir, why?"

"As a punishment, Major." Sephiroth replied smoothly. "For blatantly ignoring the code, I thought I had let him off easy."

"Sir, the code said –"

The blond stopped short. Smart move. Sephiroth smirked. Strife had always been a good soldier. "I know very well what the code said. But I didn't call you here to discuss Lieutenant Valentine. How are you handling being back in my division? Have you met your troops yet?"

"No, sir. Not yet."

"Why didn't you meet them yesterday? The scout with General Zack had not taken all night, I presume."

"I, uh, no sir." The blond eyes darted back and forth in nervousness. They ended up staring at the ground by his feet. "I'm sorry, sir. I fell asleep soon afterwards and didn't wake up until this morning."

"Alone?"

He _had_ to add that, just to watch Cloud Strife squirm like a fresh private again. He remembered other times, other circumstances where the same effect was generated. Sephiroth liked it, and was glad to see some things never change.

The negation was quiet and mumbled. Sephiroth crossed his arms. "Repetition of a crime immediately after being punished? I don't remember you being this disobedient three years ago. I should have a talk with General Zack about his methods of discipline." He moved closer to Cloud, stopping inches away from him. His voice became soft. "Don't you think?"

He lifted his hand and gently slid it under the blond's chin, tilting up the young face – more mature than he last had seen it – and stared openly. His fingers moved downwards, feeling the throat as he tried to remember exactly where that spot was. The leather glided along the smooth skin, accentuated at the hollow and landed in a small imperceptible dip –

– and the body arched into him, eyes glazed and mouth opened in a gasp that Sephiroth had wanted to fill ever since he laid his eyes on the blond again the previous day. Ah, that familiar tremor, designed by science and reserved just for him. Sephiroth's smirk grew wider, his other arm came up to clasp onto Cloud, preventing the attempted back-step and adequately caged the blond in.

"Sir!" the soldier fought him, but not well at all. Sephiroth turned his face, focusing on the ear and the earring that shone brightly upon it. His mark of conquest. He leaned down, ignoring the panicked look on the major's face and taking the flesh with his teeth and tongue, causing Cloud to practically fall into him and he heard a whimper of mercy. _Just like old times, yes?_ Sephiroth thought darkly. _Too bad you don't seem to remember it at all. _

A movement out of the corner of his eye stopped him. Sephiroth paused, turned his attention toward the tent entrance and barely missed the figure standing to the side. His arm loosened by the distraction and the major immediately detached himself. Sephiroth ignored that for the time being, but called toward the source of light. "You may come in, Lieutenant."

The shadow hesitated, but stride in a moment later with solid steps. Sephiroth tightened his gloves, eyed with piqued interest at the entrance of the short haired Vincent Valentine. The lieutenant appeared calm, if one discounted the sparks of fire burning in his eyes.

"I don't remember summoning you, Valentine."

"You didn't. I came to accompany Major Strife, once he's done with the meeting. Is he?"

Hoho, he got even more balls this time, Sephiroth thought in amusement. He didn't miss the lack of honorifics and this was the Shinra _army_. It could earn Vincent a good beating if Sephiroth choose to.

And he chose to.

"No, he's not done, _lieutenant._" Sephiroth replied, reemphasizing their vast difference in rank. "So until he is I suggest you wait outside, unless, of course, you rather stay here and be a witness."

"To what?"

Sephiroth's voice dropped a notch. "To something pure between clean men, Valentine. Or should I say, number 24601. It's not someone as sullied as yourself should be concerned with."

He could pinpoint the _exact_ second it took for Vincent to snap. The collectedness completely drained from his posture as he advanced toward Sephiroth. The general, however, was ready. Before a single syllable could get past those annoyingly perfect lips, Sephiroth raised his hand, tensed his muscles, and brought it down upon Vincent's face as hard as he could.


	4. Four

**Trinity**

Four

"Vincent!!!"

Cloud's cry was reflexive. He heard the crisp crunch of bone and saw the arc of blood splatter from the base of Vincent's nose to The General's fingertips, then onto the floor near his own feet. Cloud rushed forward, but arrived a second too late as Vincent went down on his hands and knees, collapsing onto the hard ground in front of him.

"Vince. Vince!" Cloud knelt and grabbed onto Vincent's arms. He hoisted him up an inch, cradling Vincent's head in his lap only to discover the sheer amount of blood pouring onto his uniform. Vincent moaned, half-conscious and reeling in Cloud's arms.

"Humph," The General scoffed in contempt. "Pathetic."

Cloud felt his anger rising. "Was that really necessary, sir?"

Sephiroth, surprisingly, said nothing in defense. He merely watched as Cloud gently shook Vincent, trying to get some sense back into the man. A few seconds later Vincent grunted, lifting his head slightly to catch Cloud's wide-opened eyes. Cloud breathed a sigh of relief, despite the fact he now had seen the extended damage on Vincent's blood-covered face, and slowly started to bring both of them to their feet.

"Get out of my tent, soldiers." Sephiroth ordered. "The meeting is over."

The brunet's glare back at the general instilled an unnamed fear within Cloud. "Come on, let's go." Cloud urged, pulling Vincent along and afraid that another second would ignite the air in the room. Vincent's hands clenched tightly in retaliation, but he did follow the blond toward the exit. _Please, God_, Cloud prayed silently, _let this be over. Let this end here. _

They half-ran, half-stumbled out of the tent, a trail of blood dripping onto the ground behind them. "Someone!" Cloud began to yell as soon as they cleared some distance from The General's abode, "Get a medic here! Now!"

* * *

Zack dashed into Sephiroth's tent, hair a mess and his eyes for once were mirthless. He found the general sitting by his desk, looking at papers. Zack stepped forward, slamming his fists on the tabletop in front Sephiroth to get his attention.

"Why did you hit Vincent Valentine?" His tone was not amused.

Sephiroth rested his left elbow on the table, his cheekbone atop his long fingers. "News sure travels fast around here."

"Seph," Zack sighed exasperatedly, "the blood trail is still there on the dirt. Why did you hit him?"

Sephiroth shrugged. "Because he had attempted to attack his superior officer."

"Did he really?"

"No, he didn't get to it, if that's what you're asking. Why're you getting so upset? I was punishing a disobedience."

"But you shouldn't have." Zack pulled a chair from the side and dropped heavily upon it. "You should have left him to _me_. He's not under your command, and if he has actually assaulted you it would be my responsibility to deal out the appropriate reprimand. It's procedure."

"It was a reflex when I sense a threat, Zack."

"Hah," Zack let out a dry laugh. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this serious, or sardonic. "Seph, you broke his nose in two places and almost made him bit off his tongue. I don't think a 'reflex' is going to cut it." He glanced at the white-haired man, who was now staring at him. "Is something else going on here? Did you two know each other before and I just simply missed the history?"

"Shouldn't I be asking _you_ that question?" Sephiroth replied. "He's lucky that I didn't pursue it. This is the army, Zack, I could easily get him discharged."

"You can't get him discharged," Zack stood up again, his expression determined and unyielding, "unless I agree to it. He's my lieutenant, General. And he's also one of my Turks. I _handpicked_ him to be here. I wouldn't have done that if I didn't think I know his character well enough."

Sephiroth's eyes narrowed. "Are you accusing me of being unjust, General?"

"Frankly, yes," said Zack. "Although I wouldn't call Major Strife an unbiased witness, but he's the only one we've got, and judging from the way he looked when he recalled the incident, I trust him. Seph, you beat the shit out of Valentine, and I don't have anything to substantiate his threat besides a verbal account of him possibly getting emotional to something you have said. It proves nothing!" He paused. "You can correct me on anything that's inaccurate here. I just like to know."

Zack was not unaware of his blatant partiality towards Vincent. He couldn't really help himself; he cared tremendously about each and every one of his Turks. The Turks were a special force, created during Zack's early days when the Shinra army was in dire need of extraordinary talents. Never one to think inside the box, Zack not only deployed scouts to search for new talents in the usual circles – the army reserves, the police force, and the church groups – but also personally went to some of the notoriously shady areas. He found one of the finest officers under his division inside a small dingy fight club in the streets of Shinra City . Another expert tactician was a pickpocket who had unwittingly tried to lift Zack's travel bag on a bus. And one of the best places for breeding raw heroes, Zack had considered, was the central prison.

It had no doubt generated a huge controversy. The Shinra religion was not tolerant of major sins such as manslaughter and assault, regardless of reason. It dealt fairly light punishment for small offenses like theft, but for the ones who had committed a crime serious enough to be sent to prison, they were pretty much branded for life. Literally, because all of the prisoners were tagged with a five-digit number in an arbitrarily chosen place, and it would stay with them until death. It was usually positioned so that it would be difficult or dangerous for one to remove it himself, and whoever willingly helped the prisoner would face detainment if discovered. The general public was harshly prejudiced against the sinners, treating them at best with fear and disgust. Hence, it was especially difficult for the ones who were unlucky enough to be branded at an easily exposed area, for they could not find solace anywhere they went if they got released.

This facet of the Shinra religion was one that Zack had never agreed upon. Not only was it unfair to the one who had committed accidental crimes, but in Zack's opinion it was also a great waste of human resources post-release. They could not advance further even if they obviously possess the necessary skills and intelligence to do so, and it would be a misuse of talents at best. Zack wanted people like such in his army. He was good at picking out the gems among the trash, and figured in addition to their intellect and fearlessness, he would also get their sense of personal loyalty. And loyalty was a grand asset to a soldier in the time of war.

Therefore, he went through all the major prison systems in Shinra City , hunting for the few rare usable ores in the coalmine. It took quite a while, but he managed to find a few scattered in over seventy prisons around the country and recruited them into his division, giving them the title of the Turks since he couldn't officially promote them to anything higher than a second lieutenant. They were his, and Zack trusted their striking aptitude and absolute fidelity.

He found Vincent Valentine four years ago in a small prison outside Mana. The war was on a temporary standstill, with the Shinra lacking resources to attack and the Avalanche recuperating from an earlier assault. Zack had relatively more free time on his hands. He left his second-in-command in charge of the troops, and went on a solo expedition for his recruits. He received a call from a side resource, telling him about a potential candidate in Noting Hill. Zack immediately headed toward the destination, and before twenty-four hours had passed since the call he was standing at the checking station in the Northwestside Correction Facility, NH Division.

Zack was on his way toward cellblock 17 when he distinctly recognized a sound of pain as he walked past a room with the door slightly ajar. Being unable to ignore it and continue, Zack came to a stop in front of it with an opened ear. The sound came again, and Zack decided to open the door. He stepped inside and saw four guards on their evening break. All were in various states of undress. Two men who still had on their pants were holding down a pale teenage boy on a table, injecting what Zack suspected (and later confirmed) as an aphrodisiac into the skinny arms. One man had settled between the boy's quivering thighs and was thrusting violently. The stale scents in the room informed Zack this was nowhere near the beginning of the activity.

Zack felt bile rising in his throat. He was unarmed, but his fists were raised and poised. The guards succumbed to his anger within fifteen minutes. Two stacks of paperwork and a couple of phone calls later, Zack checked in a hotel in Mana with a shivering and undernourished Vincent Valentine, serving sentence for accidentally killing a girl during a heated gang fight. He was sixteen then, just at the age where he would be tried as an adult. Zack had to pull a few strings, but since it was technically self-defense there wasn't any exceptional resistance. Zack didn't think further than getting the boy out of the hellhole to someplace safe and warm. The important thing was saving him from future abuse and nourishing him back to health, both physically and mentally.

The boy didn't speak for the first three days. During that time Zack had taken him from Mana back to Shinra City , and put him in his own quarters for the time being. He filed a report to the central government on mistreatment of prisoners, and was glad to hear that particular branch was under investigation a fortnight later. Right then, Zack was too busy making sure Vincent showered, ate, and slept. He also went to back to the prison for Vincent's files and any medical records, in case there was something else that they had given the boy that he should be aware of.

On the fourth day when Zack came back from all of his duties, he found the boy in the living room, huddling on the sofa and mumbling to himself. He looked up when Zack walked in, and jumped so quickly that all Zack had heard was a stampede of feet before he was tackled against the door.

"What the- ?" Zack gasped, the doorknob digging into his sides as Vincent latched onto him. He looked at the boy and saw the pupils were dilated and perspiration covered his forehead and chest. Zack frowned.

"Ugh, ugh," the boy panted, "I, I need to – I need it. I need it! Please."

Zack turned his head just time as Vincent leaned forward. His lips landed on Zack's cheek, missing its mark and Zack just then noticed the boy was stark naked besides a pair of underwear. The hardness pushing against Zack was unnatural, in addition to the feverishly hot young body. Zack moved, putting his army training to use and with a well-placed hand locked Vincent into a chokehold on the floor. The boy whimpered, a faint "it hurts" reached Zack's ears. Zack held him down, thinking rapidly about what could have happened within the few hours, then suddenly he understood.

He smacked himself mentally for not thinking about the severity of those drugs' aftermath. He had checked on the immediate effects, but didn't dwell on their long-term addictiveness until now. Zack lifted the boy up, half-dragged him into the bedroom and pushed him on the bed. Vincent was struggling quite violently by then, and Zack, needing to buy himself some time, struck the boy hard on his temples and knocked him out cold. Then he found some of his old clothes and tied Vincent's hands and feet together on the posts. When it was secured and he had a moment to breathe and think, Zack picked up the phone and dialed Aeris's number.

She came twenty minutes later, with her med kit and a rope of restraint. She gave Zack an accused look, called him a blockhead, and then proceeded to tranquilize the boy thrashing on the bed. When Vincent finally passed out, she untied the makeshift bondage, gently wiping the already prominent rope-burn with ointment.

"Why didn't you take him to a hospital?" Aeris asked him. "He probably will fare better there."

"I – uh – can't. Not without more paperwork. I don't want them to send him back again."

Aeris gave him a look. "Is he another one of your . . . ?"

Zack nodded. Aeris let out a quiet sigh. Then she asked Zack for the name of the drug and Zack handed her the examination statements from earlier.

"The doctor didn't tell you about the lingering effects?" Aeris asked incredulously.

"I wouldn't exactly call him trustworthy, considering who he works for." Zack replied.

They retied the boy properly, trying to make it comfortable yet strong enough to keep him from hurting himself during the rehab. Zack folded out his couch in the living room, pulled two sets of blankets out for Aeris and himself to rest in. It was much better that she stayed, for if anything serious happened he would at least have a resort to turn to. She said it probably would take a month or so for him to be completely sober, considering the doses they had injected into the boy and the frequency. Zack paled at the suggestion.

"The war will restart by then. I can't stay and take care of him!"

Aeris stared at him. "What exactly are you planning to do with him?"

"I'm not sure. He actually wasn't on my recruit list, but, well, I couldn't just leave him there."

Aeris smiled. "Well, then we'll just take it one week at a time. If an order comes and you need to be at the front lines, then we'll think of something."

The situation stayed like such for several days. During the day Zack and Aeris would tend to their respective duties on alternating days, leaving someone home to take care of the boy. At night they would keep the door open, even though Vincent's constant thrashing and restrained screams would keep both of them awake at most hours. It was in these restless nights that Zack decided to give Vincent the choice of becoming a Turk. If not for the endurance of living through the torture of the drug, but just for the look in the boy's eyes throughout this ordeal. The determined, hateful, but lucidly clear brown eyes that Zack had grown a respect for.

He went to check the boy one morning and discovered the worst was over. Vincent lay there, eyes wide open but focused. His body had stopped trembling, and color was returning to his pale cheeks. Zack felt his pulse and discovered it was beating normally. He smoothed down a lock of sweat-damp hair, smiled, and said, "Do you remember who I am?"

The boy turned his head, his gaze centered on Zack's face. "Yes. But, who exactly are you?" he asked in a soft voice.

"I'm Zack,"

"Zack," The boy repeated. "I'm Vincent."

Later Aeris told him that it was a miracle that Vincent didn't scream until his throat gave out, because the pain was known to be excruciating, even to a full-grown adult. It was even more miraculous that Vincent was capable of walking two days after the clean up with the amount of muscle that had been strained. "You got yourself a pretty decent Turk there," Aeris had commented, when she kissed Zack goodbye and threatened castration if he ever dropped something like this on her again.

Now, as he paced in Sephiroth's tent, looking expectedly at the general for the truth of the passing morning, Zack realized his temper was waning rather quickly. Sephiroth stood up, an odd expression enveloped his features.

"Was what I summarized inaccurate?" he asked.

Sephiroth shook his head. "No, you were quite right."

"Then why –"

"Zack," Sephiroth's eyes glowed, his voice strangely even. "Do you remember the Jenova project?"

Zack frowned. "Yes. But what does that have to do with anything?"

A smile appeared on Sephiroth's thin lips. "Why do you think Major Strife had transferred to your division three years ago? He was an excellent officer; I would rather much have him with my troops than give him freely away."

The pause was unnerving, and Zack realized he should be putting together something obvious, something important, but he failed miserably at grasping that straw. He waited, unsure of where to put his footing, or whether there was one at all.

"Who do you suppose Cloud Strife _is_? I'm sure you have seen the Project at some point, no?"

And when Zack remembered exactly what Sephiroth was speaking of, he was rendered utterly speechless. A chocked noise came from the back of his throat, along with eyes wide enough to strain his upraised eyebrows. Sephiroth watched him, green eyes narrowed to slits and Zack could only stare back in shock, for the first time wondering what kind of hand fate had again, brought upon them by the sheer power of coincidence.

* * *

"That should do for now."

The medic put a strip of bandage carefully across the bridge of Vincent 's nose, reinforcing the brackets that were keeping the bones in place. He then stood up, wiped the last bit of blood away from Vincent's mouth corner and said, "Don't eat anything solid for a few days. And don't even try to speak. I'll go talk with your superiors about your condition." He clasped his hands together. "Thank the Lord that you're not currently active in battle."

Vincent nodded, crossing himself after the medic's retreating footsteps. The pain on his face had ebbed, although he could still feel the throbbing inside his sinus and the thick cotton around his tongue. No solid food, was it? Vincent had experienced much worse. However, it was not the physical pain that irked him, but who did it and why it was done.

He turned his attention to the side, seeing the blond crouched near the bed. Vincent wanted to be angry, but he was willing to hear an explanation. He had indeed saw the exchange within the General's tent, and was even more bewildered that the Major only stood there, plainly taking it all in as if it were – as if it were natural. Vincent didn't think he was the jealous type, but he had never seen Cloud reciprocate to any of the easy-to-reach opportunities, not even with casual flirting. He guess he took it for granted, and now it had descended upon him that there were things that a man, no matter how trusting, would think of when certain evidence hits him squarely in the face.

Cloud was watching him with a worried look, the anxiety from before not drained at all from his face. He moved forward and stopped in front of the brunet, gently reaching for the brace but Vincent jerked his head away. Cloud paused, looked down at the ground and asked softly, "Are you alright?"

Vincent turned away. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Cloud wringing his hands together nervously. "Look, I –" Cloud started, "I don't - Why did you follow me? What did you think would happen anyway? I mean, nothing –"

He broke off abruptly when he saw the sharp glare Vincent threw at him. Cloud fidgeted, face pink and eyebrows knitted in an incensed frown. "Stop asking me what happened! I don't _know_ what happened! It's –"

Cloud broke off again. This time he walked to a chair a few feet away and sat down, his right shoulder leaning against the metal back. His profile was contorted in pain and Vincent felt his anger thinning inside him. Cloud wrapped his arms tightly around himself, propped up one leg on the chair's edge and remained still.

There obviously was something else going on, Vincent realized. He stood up slowly, approaching the blond's chair quietly as not to startle him. Cloud didn't seem to be paying attention, until Vincent kneeled down beside him and put a hand on the top of his left knee. Cloud shuddered and closed his eyes, his voice soft and sounding as if he were talking to himself.

"There's something missing. Three years ago, I don't know . . . I'm . . . not remembering something important. It's – when he – it's blank, but it's not. It's so . . . familiar, and I don't remember why! What had . . . ?"

He looked at Vincent with pleading eyes. Vincent didn't know what he was supposed to express. He was not even sure what exactly Cloud had asked. Three years ago? How should he know what Cloud had experienced three years ago? Vincent could only show his concern, and squeezed Cloud's knee gently in comfort.

Cloud's hand came up and the long fingers caressed the side of Vincent's cheek. "God, I'm sorry, Vince," he let out a frustrated sigh. "Really, why did you have to follow me to the General's tent?"

_Because I didn't trust Sephiroth. Because otherwise you would have been in much deeper shit than you already were. Because it was a wild hunch. Because of many many unreasonable reasons that I couldn't possibly tell you right now._ Vincent shook his head, only drawing a capital T on Cloud's still bloodstained pants. _Because I'm a Turk, Cloud. Because I'm a _Turk

He laid his forehead down on top of Cloud's thighs. Cloud said nothing more, but wove a hand through Vincent's short hair, gripping onto the roots in the fashion of raking leaves. It was soothing, and Vincent closed his eyes, willing himself to stop thinking about who was supposed to comfort whom and why did this felt more like the closing of an era than a mere fight. He didn't know whether to take it as the beginning of the end, or the end of the beginning.

They stayed like so until the sun had begun to climb westward, and the noises of preparation for the evening meal seeped through the fabrics of the barrack walls. Vincent lifted his head, and found himself meeting Cloud's candid gaze. He smiled helplessly, straightening himself up and offering a hand to the blond. Cloud took it, and they both turned to look at the door flap. It was a Friday and they needed to be present at the evening service.

Cloud put his head on Vincent's shoulder. "Did it hurt?"

Vincent shook his head. Cloud let out a chuckle, "Not your nose. I be you'd deny it even if it does. I mean," he tapped Vincent's breastbone, "here."

Vincent swung an arm around Cloud. He shook his head again, once. Cloud shifted, turning and reaching to place a small kiss onto the side of his neck.

"I'm sorry," the blond reiterated.

Vincent held him tighter.


End file.
